


Love In Imaginary Places

by gothpandaotaku



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Pining Sam, Requited Unrequited Love, Sully Plays Matchmaker, Wincest - Freeform, implied bottom Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-22
Updated: 2016-01-22
Packaged: 2018-05-15 14:52:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5789560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gothpandaotaku/pseuds/gothpandaotaku
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To thank Sam for solving the Zanna murders, Sully gives Sam the only thing he's ever wanted-Dean.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love In Imaginary Places

**Author's Note:**

> Because Sully is an adorable little cinnamon roll.

“Hiya Sam!”

Sam jumped at the sudden high-pitched squeal behind him and instinctively reached for the gun at his waistband before his brain caught up to him and he realized it was only Sully. “What the fu—Sully, don’t do that!”

Sully threw his hands up in a placating gesture. “Sorry, sorry. My bad. Forgot you were a big bad hunter for a minute there.”

“What are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be with Reese?”

“She told me and my ‘rainbow-suspendered ass’ to get lost for a days.” Not even Sam’s brusque tone could deter the Zanna’s cheerfulness and Sam was again reminded why he was so fond of him. Sully’s joy was infectious and had a way of making everyone in the room just as happy as he was (except Dean maybe, but Dean was an exception to _every_ rule).

The tension in Sam’s shoulders finally relaxed and he felt a smile of his own spread across his face. “Well, it’s always nice to see you. How’ve you been?”

Sully’s eyes widened as if he was actually surprised to have someone asking about _him_ , but his smile was back quickly, even wider than before. “I’m as good as ever, Sam.”

“So what brings you here? There hasn’t been any more trouble, has there?” Sam asked seriously, for a moment afraid someone else was out there killing innocent Zannas.

“Nothing of the sort! Since you helped me out, I’m here to help you out!”

“Huh? Sully, we’re good. I was just doing my job. You don’t owe me anything.”

“But I wanna do something for you.” Sully pouted.

“It’s not that I don’t appreciate it, but we’re really busy… and Dean’s really tense right now-”

As if summoned, Dean turned the corner into the library, yawning loudly, mug of coffee firmly in hand. Upon his tired eyes landing on Sully, he took a large gulp. “I don’t have enough caffeine in my system for this,” he muttered.

“Dean!” Sully squealed, latching onto Dean’s arm in a one-sided hug. Dean glared, just barely righting the coffee cup in time to avoid it spilling the precious liquid all over the floor. “Nice to see you too, jolly rainbow.”

_“Dean.”_

_“Sam.”_ Dean mocked. A strange look came over his face as he continued to stare at Sam.

“What?” Sam said defensively, noticing his brother’s unusual staring. It didn’t make him feel uncomfortable, exactly, but like Dean could see _into_ him, into his very soul. He wasn’t used to being laid bare while Dean’s emotions were a mystery.

“You haven’t been down here all night, have you?” The moment passed and Dean’s unreadable expression fell into a disapproving frown.

“No, of course not,” Sam denied just a little too quickly. He knew the moment Dean saw through him, face softening slightly as he stepped forward to lay a hand on Sam’s shoulder.

“You should get some rest, Sammy. We’ve been over those books a dozen times. There isn’t anything about the Darkness in them. We’ll figure something else out, right? Like we always do?”

It was such a small, casual touch, something they did often when concerned about the other. But, just like always, Sam’s heart beat in overtime. With Dean’s brilliant green eyes mere inches away, staring at him intently again, he almost forgot how to think straight. They kept staring at him until he remembered he was supposed to say something. “Oh, uh, yeah, right.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “You’re more tired than I thought. Coffee and breakfast, Princess?”

“Sure,” Sam smiled and watched him walk away appreciatively. A familiar heat rushed to his cheeks. Even after years and years of these pointless, vaguely alarming feelings, he couldn’t get rid of them. No matter how hard he tried or begged and pleaded for God to just _take them away_.

“I got it! I know how I can help you!”

Sam shook his head to clear his thoughts and turned back to Sully. “What are you—Sully? Where’d you go? Sully?”

He did _not_ have a good feeling about this.

* * *

 

Sully’s idea of _helping_ Sam went something like this:

In the morning –Sam wakes up first and makes the coffee; Dean shuffles into the kitchen about a half hour later. When Sam’s back is turned a full spread of Dean’s favorite breakfast foods magically appears on the kitchen table. Including marshmallow nachos, Dean’s new favorite guilty pleasure.

In the afternoon—Dean keeps wandering into the library where Sam is doing research because he says he swears he hears Sam’s voice calling his name.

Throughout the day—Sam keeps mysteriously ‘tripping’ around Dean and falling _just so,_ that Dean has to catch him. He’s constantly getting pushed into Dean’s personal space and he can tell by the way Dean looks at him Dean thinks he’s going crazy. Again.

By the end of the fifth day, Sam has _had_ it. After he retires to his room for the night (but not before ‘tripping’ directly into Dean’s arms and practically running away out of embarrassment) he calls Sully out. “Sully! I know you’re just trying to help, but you have to stop. There is _no way_ this is going to work. Please, just let it go.”

Of course, he receives absolutely no response. He fucking _knows_ Sully heard him.

Right now, he’s really regretting mentioning his little crush to Sully back when he was a kid. That’s all it was, at first. Just a teeny tiny crush on his big brother; probably more like hero worship really. He figured he’d grow out of it eventually, stop blushing every time Dean paid him any attention. But he didn’t. Instead, his little crush kept growing and growing until he couldn’t deny it any longer.

He was _in love_ with his big brother. As if he needed one more reason to feel like a freak. As a teenager, there were times when he wished he could confide in someone… specifically his old imaginary friend Sully. Maybe if he talked about his feelings, he could move past them and they could finally _go away_. But they never had, and were a part of him now. He’d accepted them a long time ago, made peace with the fact that he was a grade-A freak.

But he takes back everything he said about missing Sully now.

* * *

 

Apparently everything Sam said went in one ear of the Zanna and out the other. In fact, he did the exact opposite of Sam’s wishes. Instead, Sully upped his game.

The next morning Sam went into the kitchen for coffee, as usual. Dean joined him a half hour later, as usual. But this time, when Sam turned his back on the kitchen table to greet his brother, a different breakfast appeared. A _heart shaped_ breakfast. Complete with pancakes, waffles, bacon, and omelets, all in the shape of the life-giving red organ.

Sam scrambled to destroy the evidence of Sully’s mischief while Dean’s back was turned. He made it halfway to the trashcan with the pancakes when Dean padded further into the room.

“Mornin’ Sammy—what are you doing?”

He jumped and tried to hide the pan of warm pancakes behind his back. Judging by Dean’s raised eyebrow, he wasn’t being very successful. “Um, nothing, just—uh, _making pancakes_ , heh.”

“I can see that,” Dean said, eyebrow raising impossibly higher. Sam can feel blood rushing to his cheeks and does his best not to stare at his brother’s beautiful face. God, Dean probably thinks he’s an idiot now.

“Sam.” Dean sounded like he was talking to a five year old.

“Yeah?”

“Why are they heart shaped?”

Sam didn’t have a good answer. He’d received a full ride to Stanford, was at the top of his class while there, lied through his teeth and made people believe whatever he wanted them to believe basically for a living and he had _nothing_. His brain was at a total standstill.

Thankfully, it was physically impossible for Dean to miss the opportunity to make a lame joke, whatever the situation.

“Are you asking me to be your valentine, Sam?” Dean asked in a horrendous high-pitched voice and batted his eyelashes playfully.

“Um… yeah?”

“Awww, and it’s not even Valentine’s Day,” Dean continued in his mock girl voice and sat down to eat breakfast, digging right in to the bacon and heart-shaped waffles. Sam stared in awe and his brother’s ability to shrug anything and everything off in the face of food.

Crisis averted.

But for how long, he wondered. Sully was ignoring him, and it didn’t look like he was going to give up his little game anytime soon. Sam would just have to be on guard for anything suspicious in the future.

* * *

 

“Saaaaam, I’m hungry,” Dean whined.

Sam rolled his eyes at his brother’s childishness. Secretly, it was in fondness. Actually, he felt a little hungry himself. “Alright, I guess we can take a break then.” They’d been digging through the storage room searching for anything of interest since breakfast. Much of the clutter in the room went uncatolouged, and Sam was determined to right that error. They might even find something useful against The Darkness; a binding spell or something.

Hey, it _could_ happen.

Dean had given him a look like he was humoring Sam by doing this when Sam had first suggested it. Sam decided to remain optimistic solely to annoy his brother.

“I think there’s still leftover pizza in the fridge…”

“Yeah yeah.” Dean grinned up at him and Sam’s heart nearly burst. Snapping out of it, Sam stalked to the fridge and threw open the door with more force than necessary, annoyed at himself for getting weak in the knees just by Dean looking at him.

He blinked. And blinked again, hoping his eyes were just playing tricks on him. They weren’t.

Shit.

There was no food in the fridge. Definitely suspicious. 

Sam went through the entire kitchen, top to bottom, opening every cupboard and pantry. There was literally no food in the entire bunker, and he knew exactly who to blame.

“Dean, we’re going out!”

* * *

 

This was insane. There was _no way_ this was happening. Not _every single_ restaurant in Lebanon could possibly be closed, right?

“What the fuck?” Dean grumbled, fingers gripping the steering tightly.

“I don’t know.”

“Seriously, _what the fuck?_ ”

Sam sighed heavily. “I don’t—there! Right there!” he hastily pointed to the restaurant coming up on their left, an Italian place by the looks of it. The bright green sign hanging in the door declaring the restaurant _Open_ shone like a beacon.

Dean swerved the car into the parking lot, ignoring the disapproving look Sam shot him. “Finally.”

Sam fought back another sigh, this time of relief. At least they’d finally found someplace to eat. He knew Dean’s patience was wearing thin because he was hungry.

When they entered the restaurant they were surprised to discover the place was a lot… fancier than first thought. The lighting was dim, there were actual round tables with actual table cloths, piano music streamed quietly through the speakers, the servers wore tuxedos, and they served _wine_.

“Reservation for Winchester?” The pretty blonde hostess smiled as she greeted Sam and Dean.

“What? There’s no reservation.” Luckily, Dean had wandered off to look at the large display of bottles of wine to the right of the entrance.

“Why yes, there is. Right this way, please.”

As they followed the petite woman to their table Sam silently cursed Sully in very creative ways.

“Here you are. I’ll be right back with some water.” And Sam and Dean were left alone at a corner table with fucking _candles_ in the middle of it for atmosphere. Dean sat down and immediately started looking at the expansive menu, while Sam stood there, sputtering and red faced at how utterly _romantic_ everything was.

“You gonna sit down?”

“Oh, uh, um, y-yeah.” Sam plopped down unceremoniously and prayed that the dim lighting hid how red his face surely was. He peered around the restaurant simply for something to do other than stare at his brother’s stupidly beautiful face by candlelight. It should have been the dinner rush, but astonishingly there was almost no one else in sight. There was an old married couple partially obscured by the tall potted plants all on the way on the other side of the room, but that was it for their general viscinity. Any other time he would have been suspicious of the lack of customers, but he figured it was Sully’s way of giving them ‘privacy.’

They settled into a comfortable banter, Dean commenting that the new season of Game of Thrones was set to start soon. When their food arrived, Dean dug in with gusto as he always did; pasta noodles dripping sauce all over his mouth in a way that for anyone else would be unattractive.

_This was Dean._ His brother. His everything. And just like that, the last of Sam’s nerves melted away into nothing.

There was no talk of The Darkness or hunting. They were just _Sam and Dean_ again.

It was the happiest he had been in years.

* * *

 

They stayed at the restaurant nearly until closing time, the waitress shooting them tighter and tighter smiles. By the time they arrived back at the bunker, warm and loosened by the many glasses of wine between them, the stars were shining high in the midnight blue sky.

Sam stumbled to his room, still giggling over something or other Dean had said, maybe over Dean’s own unsteady bowlegged gait. He turned the knob, intent on falling into bed and getting a full night’s sleep for once. The knob didn’t turn. He tried again, harder this time; maybe it was the wine making him clumsy. Again, it didn’t work.

He stared at the door for a full minute, blinking rapidly until a thought occurred to him.

“Dean, did you lock me out of my room?” Sam called out, laughing at what he assumed was a practical joke by his brother.

“Huh?” Dean appeared from around the corner, looking like he had been half on his way to sleep already.

“Did you—did you lock me out of my room?”

“Nooooope.” Dean drew out the words sloppily and burst into a grin like it was the funniest thing he’d ever heard. Sam joined him, something about the popping noise Dean’s plump pink lips made at the end of the word tickling his funny bone.

“I can’t get in,” Sam guffawed, which set off a whole other round of drunken laughter.

When he could finally manage to get the words out, Dean said, “Wanna come to my room then?” Sam nodded and followed his brother unsteadily, the two of them practically rolling with laughter when Sam tripped and bumped into Dean.

They unceremoniously collapsed onto Dean’s soft mattress simultaneously, their limbs tangling but both of them too tired to move. Sam opened his eyes and Dean’s impossibly beautiful face was _right there_ staring back at him, their breaths mingling into one. Dean’s eyes shone that stunning green unlike anything Sam had ever seen before, and there was something in them that made Sam lean forward into that small, insignificant space between them and gently press his lips to his brother’s.

* * *

 

A creak in the night wakes Sam in the early hours of the morning. He’s snug, a warm body next to him, and he shuffles closer. He’s about to drift back to sleep when he realizes just who it is he’s wrapped around like an octopus.

It’s _Dean_.

Memories of the night before come flooding back, and oh god, Sam’s hard as a fucking rock. Dean can’t find him like this. Not after he’d fucking kissed Dean, drunk or not. Dean had simply stared at him owlishly for a few seconds before rolling over and falling to sleep, so there was a good chance he wouldn’t even remember it. But Sam can’t take that chance.

Silently, Sam extricates himself from his brother and prays he hasn’t ruined the one good thing in his life.

One long, _cold_ shower later, Sam plops onto his bed still clad in only a towel around his waist, pounding head resting in his hands. A hangover is just around the corner, he can feel it. He was never drinking wine again as long as he lived.

As he leans back and drifts off to sleep, he tries not to think about how he’s going to face Dean in the morning or how soft Dean’s lips were against his, or how they seemed to fit so perfectly.

XXX

“Sam?”

A tentative knock pulls Sam out of his dream of (strangely) marshmallow nachos and a very naked Dean. His first instinct is to roll over and find that dream again, but Dean’s voice breaks through the haze of sleep. He sits up and blinks bleary eyes, realizing he’s still practically naked himself.

“Hold o-”

But Dean’s already throwing the door open, years of living in each other’s pockets giving way to not really giving a fuck about privacy when there were apparently more _important_ matters. “Sam, we need to-”

Sam stands up on instinct, the towel falling to the floor instantly and suddenly he’s standing in front of his brother bare-ass naked with an obvious hard-on.

For one sustained, awkward moment the room is utterly silent. They’re suspended in a moment in time where all Sam can do is stare at Dean in abject horror and all Dean does is stare South of the border. It’s only when Sam shifts subconsciously under Dean’s gaze that Dean shakes his head, as if he’s shaking himself out of a trance, that the moment is broken.

“Sorry,” Dean grunts, and stalks out of the room, not even bothering to close the door behind him in his hurry.

* * *

 

Dean was avoiding him. A whole week since _the incident_ , since Dean had last spoken to him, much less looked at him.

To be fair, Sam hadn’t exactly reached out either. He’d taken to walking in the opposite direction whenever he heard the stomp of Dean’s boots. And spending virtually all day every day locked in his room. Just as a precaution. He just… he couldn’t take seeing the disgust on Dean’s face. If Dean hadn’t known how Sam felt about him before, he surely knew now.

It would kill him.

So Sam would prefer to live in denial as long as possible. Preferably for the rest of his life.

There were no more heart-shaped breakfasts, candlelit dinners, or mysterious forces pushing Sam into Dean’s personal space. It seemed even Sully had given up on his hopeless quest to bring them together.

A part of Sam wanted to be mad at his friend, a childish part. If Sully hadn’t tried so hard to force them together like ill-fitting pieces of a puzzle maybe this wouldn’t have happened. Dean wouldn’t have found out Sam’s secret and Sam could continue pretending he wasn’t helplessly, pathetically in love with his brother. But deep down, Sam knew it was inevitable. He couldn’t stay away from Dean any more than he could keep from breathing.

As if Sam’s thoughts had summoned him, Sully appeared in the middle of Sam’s room, looking the very definition of contrite. He wrung his hands nervously for several moments before speaking in a quiet, shaking voice, “I’m—I’m so sorry, Sam. I never meant for this to happen. I just want you to be happy. You deserve to be happy, more than anyone in the world. But I guess I pushed too hard too fast and ruined everything, huh?”

Sam sighed internally. He wanted so bad to have someone to blame someone, but looking at Sully’s slumped shoulders and the unshed tears in his eyes, he was reminded of a kicked puppy. He didn’t stand a chance.

“You don’t have to apologize. You just wanted to help me, right?” Sully nodded and a couple tears escaped, making Sam feel like an asshole. “But you have to understand, Dean was _never_ going to love me like that.”

Sam’s stomach churned as he realized how true that really was. The only thing he had ever desired—more than a normal life, more than all the safety and blissful ignorance in the world—was hopeless, and always had been.

* * *

 

_Thump._ “Goddammit.” _Crash._ “Fucking—Sam, can you give me a hand over here?”

Sam was in the library, doing what amounted to little more than twiddling his thumbs with how his research was going. He was no closer to finding out the darkness’ weakness than he was the moment it was released. Dean’s voiced carried from the direction of the storage room that lead into the dungeon, startling Sam enough to make him practically jump out of his chair.

Another week had passed and Sam finally felt comfortable enough to venture out of the safety of his room. Dean’s only reaction had been a passing glance. This was literally the first time Dean had spoken to him in two fucking weeks.

Sam could be pissed at the world and his hopelessly shitty situation all he wanted, but it wasn’t going to do him any good. If Dean needed help, he was going to help him…

…with minimal eye contact.

Despite himself, Sam’s heart raced as he made his way into the storage room leading into the dungeon. His first time speaking to his brother in two weeks—he’d forgotten how slowly time seemed to pass when Dean wasn’t around to share it with. Nothing felt _right_ when he and Dean were at odds.

This was an opportunity, he realized. He was going to do whatever it took to get Dean to talk to him and sort their shit out, even apologize if need be. They’d spent _years_ about in the past, but each separation grew harder to withstand, no matter the length of time. It was like Sam’s love for Dean was an addiction he couldn’t kick, increasing his tolerance with each hit so he kept needing _more_. And now he needed more than Dean could give.

Heart in his throat, Sam swallowed it down and stepped into the dungeon where metallic shuffling noises emanated from. Dean had probably knocked over some of the equipment. “Um, hey Dean-”

Wasn’t there.

The dungeon was completely empty.

Confused, looked back at the entrance, to the dungeon, and back again, waiting for something, anything to make sense. Other than that he was going insane. Again.

Footsteps sounded on the stone floor and Dean appeared at the entrance to the dungeon, looking just as confused as Sam. “Sam? You said you needed help with something?”

And then it clicked.

“Wait, Dean don’t come in here-”

Too late. Dean stepped into the dungeon and the secret door slammed shut.

“…it’s just a trick of Sully’s.” Sam sighed.

“Sully? Huh? What the fuck is going on here?” Dean growled and immediately attempted to pry the door open. It didn’t budge a centimeter.

Sam sat down on the hard stone floor, making himself as comfortable as possible on the cold surface. His ass already ached. Running a hand through his messy hair and looking anywhere but his brother he muttered, “It’s Sully’s idea of a joke.”

“Some fucking joke. This isn’t funny Sully, let us out!” Dean shouted, slamming his fist against the door again and again.

“It’s not gonna work, Dean. He won’t let us out until he gets what he wants.”

“And what does he want?” Dean slumped against the door. “How do you know this, anyway?”

“We’ve been, ah, talking. He wants us to…” Sam cleared his throat nervously, focusing on a moldy tile on the corner of the far wall, “ _talk_.”

“ _Talk_? What?” He turned and glared at the door. “We’re talking right now, so you can let us out.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Like, really talk. About—you know.”

“No, I _don’t_ know. There’s. Nothing. To. Talk. About.” Every word was accompanied with Dean’s fist banging against the door. At least they weren’t hitting Sam (well, yet), which is how he thought this conversation would go down.

“Dean, we _need_ to talk about what I did, okay?” Sam stood up and made his way to where Dean was slumped against the door again, looking for all the world like a caged animal. “I’m so-”

“Sorry, I know, I get it. You were drunk and confused. It’s fine, just… Shut up, will you?” Dean snapped.

“I didn’t kiss you because I was drunk,” Sam said quietly. _Shut up now while you’re still ahead Sam!_ But he couldn’t stop the words from pouring out. Like word vomit. “I kissed you because I’ve wanted to for a really, really long time.”

Dean’s head snapped up so fast Sam thought he’d get whiplash. His eyes were as wide as a deer in the headlights. "You don't mean that. You _can’t_ mean that.”

“I—I do. And I’m not sorry I kissed you, because I at least got to do it once. If you want to punch me like I think you’ve been wanting to for the past two weeks, you can go ahead and do it now.”

Dean stared up at Sam, tense as if he were in the middle of a fight; Sam thought Dean really _was_ going to punch him in the face. He wore an unreadable expression that sent chills down Sam’s spine for all the wrong (right) reasons. Dean took a single step towards Sam and Sam braced himself for the blow.

He was pulled into a kiss instead.

This kiss was a hundred, a thousand, a million, an _infinite_ amount of times better than the gentle brush of their lips two weeks ago (though that had been amazing as well and the best kiss of his life up until this exact moment). It was full of wonder and promise and hope and excitement and—and _love_ and _Dean_. It was everything.

When Dean finally pulled away the barest amount for air, he whispered into Sam’s mouth, “I was avoiding you so I wouldn’t do _this_ to you the next time I saw you.”

“Dean—wha?” Sam was so drunk on Dean’s kisses he couldn’t form coherent thoughts, much less coherent sentences.

“You’re not the only one who’s been wanting for a long, long time.”

“Forever,” Sam corrected.

“Forever,” Dean agreed before diving back into Sam’s mouth for more kisses. “Remind me to send Sully a fruit basket.”

* * *

 

**Omake:**

“Sam? Um, so, how did that talk with Dean go—oh god!”

“ _Dean! Dean! Ah ah ah ah!”_

Oh god! Uh, uh, I’m just gonna leave you to it then, Gl-glad to help—oh my!”

Neither noticed the red-faced Zanna disappearing into thin air just as fast he’d came.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading y'all! I would love to hear your thoughts!


End file.
